by Ramy Vance
Even though it’s in the Bible, few people understand what King Solomon’s rings were about. Solomon was the “wise king,” the guy who could supposedly speak to the “other world.” All that was true, but it was the nature of how it was true that few understand. King Solomon could capture and control jinn. As in, otherworldly creatures that God made from smokeless fire.
What a power.
Only problem with his power was that he had to capture the jinn in gems. Gems that he fashioned into rings, bracelets, belts … you name it.
Seems the Other Studies Library had inherited a boatload of them.
Few people would know that … could know that. But an Occultist bastard hell-bent on performing human sacrifice might. Knowing the power of the ring and being backed into a corner—the corner of being caught by a certain ex-vampire girl wandering into the library in the middle of the night—would have been motivation enough to release the jinni from its eternal prison. Luckily for us, the killer must have returned to the scene of the crime sometime after I’d been hauled off to the police station and returned the ring to its case. Must have thought the police would just assume it had been broken in the debacle along with so many other things and wouldn’t put two and two together. Too bad for the killer—I’d had the last three hundred years to bone up on my history and lore. The instant I saw the broken ring, I knew the answer.
And as for the hex? That was witches’ magic. Witches, just like vampires and werewolves, lost their magic when the gods left. But they didn’t lose their talismans. It was perfectly conceivable that a witch might have imbued an item in her possession with a hexing spell. In fact, it was perfectly conceivable that she might have dozens of items, all imbued with various nasty, onetime spells at her disposal.
And so, all these facts led us to the same conclusion—the killer was human.
And, most likely, at this party.
Trouble was, there was an overwhelming number of humans at this party. Talk about finding a body in a mass grave (sorry, sick vampire humor).
The line to the bar was moving at a snail’s pace; given that it literally wove around the entire courtyard, I’d be here for a while. But standing in a line was as good a vantage point as any from which to look for the killer. Looking up and down the line, I saw the last person I wanted to see standing right in front of me.
The mousey girl who got that poor gargoyle killed.
I took a double take, but there was no mistaking her. There she was, dressed in a catsuit complete with fake cat ears pinned to her hair and a silly cat’s tail pinned to her arse. Ironic that someone so mousey would dress as a cat, but hey, I guess we all aspire to be something we’re not from time to time.
I knew that I had something really important to do. I knew that confronting her would be the worst thing I could do at this moment. But I also knew that I might never have another chance to tell that bitch what a horrible thing she had done. There would be no justice for that unfortunate gargoyle, but there might be a little retribution.
I leaned forward and pulled at her cat’s tail. She whirled around, and her stupid mascara whiskers were in my face. Our eyes connected, and I saw the regular fear and anxiety constantly on her face. She didn’t know who I was—as far as she could tell, I was some drunk cherub having a bit of fun. She tried to smile, but given how nervous she was, all she managed to pull off was a troubled smirk. I now saw that it took every ounce of her nervous, anxiety-ridden being to dress up and come to this party.
Not that I cared.
“You,” I said, dropping my posh British accent, “have been a very naughty girl.”
“I have?” she said.
I lifted my cherub mask for a second before lowering it again.
Her eyes flashed with recognition.
“You abandoned someone who only wanted to fit in—just like you,” I said. “What’s more, you abandoned someone who would have protected you. I would have thought someone as weak and pathetic as you would have—”
“Georgie,” she said, scanning the crowd. “Is he here?”
I paused. “Georgie?”
“Yeah,” she said, leaning in close. “The gargoyle. Is he here?”
They must have gotten a few extra hands at the bar. The line started moving, and within seconds we were making a slow march toward drinks. “You mean you didn’t …”
I suddenly realized I had automatically assumed she was responsible for the gargoyle’s death. But in reality, I didn’t know. “No … Georgie isn’t here. What happened yesterday?”
We were walking side by side now, and I was starting to feel like a real moron.
“We were walking home,” she said, “talking. He was telling me all about his role in protecting some medieval king. Chlo-something.”
“Chlothar the Great,” I corrected her. “It was from the Gargouille where all gargoyles were born from. They rose when Chlothar was king.”
“Yeah, that’s it. We had a good time, and we decided we’d go up to the gazebo. You know, the one on the hill behind the dorms. We cut through the stadium’s parking lot. It was the middle of the afternoon, so we figured it was safe enough. And when we got in, we saw several hockey players loading their gear into the van, laughing and having fun. You know, boys being boys.”
“And what? They saw Georgie and attacked him?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. They didn’t even look in our direction. Not until …” She stopped talking and her shoulders scrunched up like she was literally trying to make herself smaller. Even in a cat costume, she managed to look like a mouse.
“Until what?” I asked.
“This woman stepped out of a car. She walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. A boy our age stepped out. But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on Georgie. She had a wicked smile on her face, and as we walked past she pointed at Georgie and said, ‘How convenient.’ Then … then she slapped the boy. Georgie didn’t like that. Not one bit.”
“You mean some kid was being slapped by his mother?”
She shook her head. “No. First of all, the boy’s a student here. I’ve seen him around. And as for the woman—she was too young to be his mother. But she was mad. And she slapped him hard. Weird thing was, she wasn’t looking at him when she hit him. She was looking at us. Well, not us—at Georgie. ‘Let’s see if this works,’ she said. Her voice was eerie, like she was trying out something she shouldn’t. Then she slapped the boy again. And again. That’s when Georgie started shaking his head and huffing. Then that crazy woman pulled out a gun and pointed it at the boy’s head. That’s when Georgie started to really get mad, but the woman didn’t seem worried. She just pointed at the group of hockey players who were no longer loading their gear into the van, but were now staring at her. ‘If you want him to live,’ she said to Georgie, ‘then you’ll take care of them.’ He looked at me and said, ‘Run. Please. I’ll find you later, but you must run now. Run, run, run!’ The woman giggled at this and pulled back the hammer on her pistol. That’s when Georgie’s eyes turned red and he charged at the group of hockey players. I mean, he was like a creature possessed. But that wasn’t him. He wouldn’t just attack them and—and …” She trailed off.
“What happened after that? What did you do?”
She looked around before lowering her head in shame. “What do you think I did? I ran, just like he told me to.” She shook her head and dabbed the corners of her eyes with the end of her tail. “I shouldn’t have left. But I was so scared. And he was so angry.” Then she clamped her fists at her sides and her voice took on a bit more confidence. “But that’s why I’m here now. I’m looking for Georgie. He’s going to live with me…just like you and—”
Mousey Girl so abruptly stopped walking that the people directly behind us bumped into her back. Not that she noticed. She just pointed in front of her and said, “That’s the woman who made Georgie so crazy.”
Screaming the Gods Back
I looked up to see where Mou
sey Girl was pointing, half expecting to see some crazed Occultist standing with the obsidian blade in one hand and a rain stick in the other. What I didn’t expect to see was Detective Wilcox, standing next to Nate.
They stood on the far side of the fountain, too far to discern any real detail, but close enough for me to clearly make out who they were. If I could recognize them, that meant they could recognize me. For a split second, my heart started to race. Either Mousey Girl had gotten all her facts wrong or Detective Wilcox was somehow involved in all this. Which meant she was probably responsible for the hex. My heart skipped a beat—until I remembered I was wearing the cherub’s mask.
I breathed a sigh of relief, then scanned the crowd for Mergen, Deirdre or Egya. None of them were in sight. The only familiar face—other than Wilcox and Nate—was the apu, Sal, standing by himself and looking pretty glum. And since Wilcox was with Nate, one of the apu’s closest friends, I couldn’t be sure which side he was on. Damn it!
Mousey Girl turned to run away. I grabbed her arm and said, “Where are you going?”
“Away,” she whispered in a rushed voice.
I looked up at Wilcox, who seemed to be scanning the crowd, looking for someone. Nate, on the other hand, looked dejected, frustrated and scared.
But Mousey Girl could easily get away. From where we stood, she could veer to the right and use the beer line as cover. Even if Wilcox recognized her as the girl in the parking lot, Mousey Girl would be long gone before anything could happen.
“OK,” I said. “Go—but before you do, I have a question. Do you know the gargoyle’s real name?”
“Huh?” she said, fear filling her mascara-decorated eyes.
“The gargoyle. Georgie. Do you know his real name? We want to give him a proper burial and, well, his name will go a long way toward making that happen.”
I don’t know if she even heard my question, or else she’d probably have started bawling from the discovery that her new friend was dead. But her eyes were trained on Wilcox. The line edged forward. Mousey Girl’s terror quickly got the best of her. She pulled her arm away and disappeared into the crowd.
I was alone in the line. At least I wouldn’t be recognized, which meant I could get close enough to confirm or deny Mousey Girl’s story without being detected. The line edged forward until we were almost parallel with Wilcox, with the fountain between us. As I got close enough to make out some details, I realized that Mousey Girl had only been half-right.
Detective Wilcox wasn’t just the terrifying lady who’d gotten Georgie the gargoyle killed.
She was the crazy woman who was going to get everyone at this party slaughtered.
The line was meandering along, snaking around the courtyard, closer and closer to where Wilcox was standing, and now that she was only yards away, I could see she hadn’t had only the one Solomon’s ring, used and abandoned at the library—she had dozens. The sharp ruby-red diamonds lined each of her ten fingers, most sporting two rings each, and at least a dozen more hung from her belt as seemingly harmless decoration. And that’s exactly why I hadn’t seen her wearing any yesterday. She knew she could get away with displaying them in the open at a GoneGodsDamned costume party.
The most frightening thing about her was how she wore the rings. The glass parts were facing inward, which meant that all she needed to do was clap her hands together and she’d shatter all the rings at once. Not that she was poised to do that now, thank the GoneGods. She had one arm around Nate and the other in her jacket like she was holding—
They were standing next to the dried-up stone fountain, and now I noticed for the first time that something was different about the fountain than the last time I’d been here: it was decorated with vines and orchids and lilies and several other plants, and its stone, bench-like edge had been cleared as if as a table or … a botanical tabernacle. The perfect surface to perform a ritual on—and I knew exactly what kind of ritual she had in mind.
We advanced a few steps in the queue. As I drew nearer, one detail became clearer—she was holding a gun on Nate. Looking behind me at Sal, I suddenly realized why he was so distraught. He knew Detective Wilcox was threatening his friend. As an apu, he was bound to protect his friends in a way that went beyond fraternal loyalty. He was created to protect those in his charge. That was his purpose for being … and right now he was helpless to protect his friend.
The rings, the trapped jinn, Dr. Dewey’s murder, threatening Nate—it was all starting to make sense. But there were still some missing pieces. Missing pieces I didn’t have time to contemplate now.
Because now I needed to stop Wilcox from going through with whatever plan she had in mind.
I left the queue and walked toward the fountain, swaying like I was just another drunk reveler, until I was standing right next to Wilcox. Then, using a handy wrist move I’d learned from an aikido master in Japan, I forced her to release the gun and pulled her hand out of her jacket, while simultaneously lacing my fingers with hers. She tried to punch me with her free hand, no longer holding Nate. I rolled into the punch so as to weaken the impact enough that none of the rings would shatter against the hard surface of my mask.
No jinn appeared. My move had worked. I breathed a sigh of relief, then kicked her in the shins and laced my other hand with hers. Now we were hand-in-hand-in-hand-in-hand.
She tried to pull away and I just went with it. I might not be able to match her strength—after all, she had three inches on me—but that didn’t mean I couldn’t inconvenience her. And as long as my fingers were laced with hers, she couldn’t break the glass and release the jinn.
“What are you doing?” she yelled.
People were starting to gather around us, evidently getting into position to watch a catfight. Well, a cherub-versus-gypsy fight. That was fine. I didn’t mind an audience.
“Nate,” I said. “Run.” The way I figured it, as long as Nate was safe, Sal would be able to help. As it was, Sal was walking toward us, trying to determine if Nate was, indeed, far enough away for him to get involved.
But Nate didn’t move.
“Come on—run! Sal and I can take care of her.”
Wilcox and I turned in a tight circle as she tried to pull free, so Nate was now behind me. Therefore, I could only imagine that his face transformed from fear to malice the second before I heard him say, “Why would I want to do that?”
Then I felt a heavy hand grab my shoulder and pull.
GoneGodsDamn it! Nate was actually trying to help Wilcox. I’d read this situation oh, so wrong.
“What the hell are you doing?” I cried out.
He leaned in and whispered, “What do you think? We’re trying to get them back.”
“Them?”
“The gods … we disappointed them when we turned our backs on the old ways.” I could feel his hot breath on me. “And now we have the ability to do it. Finally.”
“How?” I asked, as the three of us swayed in a weird dance. I wasn’t about to let go of Wilcox’s hands, and moving so the rings stayed intact while shrugging off Nate as he tried to pull me off her was no easy feat. It meant going with the flow, with both of them. Trouble was, they had opposite flows, and the only thing that prevented them from breaking free was that they had yet to coordinate their efforts.
“Idiot,” Wilcox hissed. “The apu is bound to protect Nate. And by threatening him, I am forcing the apu to do as I demand.”
Oops. That should have been obvious. “And what’s that?”
Kind of wished I hadn’t asked, because her eyes widened with anticipation and excitement. And not in an I just won the lottery kind of way. It was more like after a lifetime of being a vegetarian, I’d just had my first steak and now that I knew the taste of flesh, I’d never go back. My similes needed work, I know, but I was under a pinch of duress at the time.
“The gods,” Wilcox practically moaned, “they left because we turned our backs on them. We no longer honored them the way they wanted. We no longer paid th
em tribute. I am here to usher back the old ways.”
“And by ‘old ways,’ which ones are you talking about?”
“Blood tributes,” Wilcox said.
“You mean human sacrifice?”
“Is there any other kind?” Nate asked as he pulled.
We continued our dance, and all the while I saw the confusion on Sal’s face. He couldn’t hear our conversation or assess the level of threat against Nate. All he could do was helplessly watch as he waited for some clear indication of what to do.
“So it was Nate at the library?” I said. “You didn’t release the jinni from the ring—you don’t have the power. But the guard dog is a protective creature, and it released itself because Nate was threatened.”
“That’s what’s amazing about the apu’s power. He uses what is around him to protect his charges. In the library, that meant breaking the ring. At the vigil, when you so conveniently threatened Nate, Sal’s protection took the form of a hex that literally turned these otherwise reasonable human beings into a roving gang of hate.”
Mousey Girl’s story suddenly made sense. A gargoyle’s nature is to protect their charge. When Detective Wilcox threatened Nate in front of him, not only was his commitment to Mousey Girl’s safety being tested, but he was also falling under the Incan Other’s spell; the two opposite forces were being pitted against each other, and Sal’s spell won. Georgie attacked those hockey players because, at that moment, it was literally the only thing Sal could do to stop Wilcox from hurting Nate.
“The apu’s spell contains so much beauty in its simplicity,” Wilcox said. “And since I am a constant threat to Nate, there is only one solution for the apu.”
“Do your bidding?”
“Do my bidding,” she repeated, her eyes widening again in a maniacal expression. “And my bidding is to sacrifice all these silly kids just like they did when the sun would turn black in displeasure and demand human blood as a tribute. The apu was hesitant but not as hesitant as you would expect. After all, he is a creature who was once given human tributes himself.”